


Narrowing the Aperture

by RandallsRedTie



Category: The Hour
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Spain, Spanish Civil War, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandallsRedTie/pseuds/RandallsRedTie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbly stuff about Randall/Lix in Spain. Late night ramblings of an insomniac but I hope some of you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narrowing the Aperture

       Returning to London and seeing Lix had stirred up many memories for Randall Brown. At night, home alone, the ghosts of Spain and their time together would come to visit him. These visitations occurred most often in the small hours of the morning, not long before the sun was set to rise. The memories were faded, both from time and from having been burned away by years of strong liquor. They did not come in a linear fashion but in disarrayed flashes, some so vivid he was sure he was still dreaming.

   

    Some of these moments were among the happiest of his life: Lix stepping off of the train, having arrived a few days after him. The dust swirling around her as she walked toward him, smiling, bags in hand and a camera slung around her neck. Sitting in the hotel bar when there wasn't much happening, watching her as she arm-wrestled a drunken Spaniard, and won, taking her prize in the form of his red handkerchief. He'd taken it with him when he'd left Spain. It still sat in his desk along with the other things he still kept of her. The two of them watching from a rooftop as the Republicans held a parade in the streets below, beautiful Spanish songs of defiance ringing out through the city around them, Lix weeping at the fierce spirit of the freedom fighters as they marched. The way her face lit up when she knew she'd gotten the shot. Her face in repose, facing him as she slept. Riding in the back of a truck as they sped toward the front, hands entwined, holding on for dear life as they made their way toward the guns and smoke and cannon-fire. Lying in the grass and eating the wild onions that grew out of the Spanish earth. Her standing in front of the window in his room, which would soon become THEIR room, the morning sun framing her face. Her wearing his shirt, smoking her first cigarette of the day. She looked over then and smiled when she caught him staring, appreciating the effect she had on him. The all familiar tingle bolted through his entire body. Her face being the first he saw when he woke in hospital, having been injured in a brawl when one of the American reporters had gotten too handy with her. Her laughing at him and calling him a silly, beautiful boy. One night when there was nothing else in the world except their beating hearts and the distant pounding of war and the rain falling softly onto the roof and her telling him she loved him, and him saying it back, and meaning it. Him reaching out, placing his hand on her belly, feeling their child as it moved within her.

   

    But of course it had been war time and there were horrors manifold. The hotel being turned into a triage as seemingly countless wounded men and women were brought in from the front. Broken bodies, men and boys crying out for their mothers, the metallic scent of blood everywhere in the building. Dead bodies being piled in a corner. Orphanages housing the children of the freedom fighters where there wasn't enough food to go around. Painfully thin children looking up at them and pleading for help and Randall's heart breaking at the ugliness and unfairness of it all. Prostitutes roaming the streets, stinking of sex and booze, mouths painted with greasy red lipstick looking like wounds, black teeth smiling out at him. Lix becoming sick in the mornings and it not taking long for both of them to figure out why. Her constantly scaring him to death by charging ahead into the fray, even as her body changed to accomodate the child growing within. Her picking a fight with him over his idiosyncracies and him retreating to the hotel bar and drinking until he was numb then stumbling up and passing out in bed. The letter they'd both dreaded, calling them back to Britain. Her telling him she was staying, that she couldn't go back there yet, not in her condition. Him begging her on his knees to marry him, to come with him and raise their child with him. Her cold beauty as she denied him over and over, telling him no, never, not keeping the baby. That she didn't want to spend her life with an alcoholic man with maddening habits. The utter despair he felt as he left Spain, left her behind, not knowing what would happen to her, to his baby.

 

    These and other ghosts of the past came to him, reminded him of the man he used to be, of how far he'd come. Of how far he had to go. But now a new visitor came. He saw visions of his daughter, Sophia, somewhere in France. The countryside maybe. Happy. Laughing. With Lix's eyes and his nose and curly hair like burnished copper, calling him mon pere and kissing his cheek as he hugged her, weeping at how perfect she is. With tears in his eyes Randall rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, praying to whomever would listen that he'd find her soon...


End file.
